The week before last, we had the 1/2 scale exact replica of the Vietnam Memorial
in the area for a few days. The "Wall That Heals" as it is called, travels
across the nation to speak, not only of the loss, but of the lives of the 58,200
odd men and women inscribed.
I met a lady there.
We both approached the wall with apprehension, dread, or I think a feeling of
not knowing what to expect after 30 odd years of trying to forget. I looked
at a number of names, touched them, and said hello to friends that in turn,
touched back through that black surface after all these years and told me
there was no need to be sorry.
As I was leaving, and trying hard to maintain the hard, cold, macho image that all of
us are supposed to show, I noticed that the lady had stayed in front of one of
the panels for the entire time I was there. She looked up from the panel and ask
if I would walk with her back to the parking lot. As we walked, we talked a bit
of the memories of those names we saw. We sat at a bench and cried, me for crew,
friends, buddies, she for a husband that she was with for only 3 days before he
shipped out. A lot of hurt fell on the ground that day, not all of it, because
it will never leave till we die, but much of the bitterness is now gone.
Lady, REFLECTIONS is dedicated to you.


REFLECTIONS

You look quite handsome today.
There in your dress uniform, your brass gleaming in the sun.
I admire the devilish merriment that is always present in your eyes, with a hint of the fire and passion in your soul.
Your lips are curled as always in an impish grin, just seconds from laughter.
Your shoulders are broad....broad enough to rest my head and my heart.
And that same lock of hair is again curling onto your forehead.
I reach out to touch your face, anticipating the warmth of your kiss and the strength of your embrace, to put my fingers through your hair.
I reach out.............
But my fingers touch only cold smooth glass, a hard wooden frame, and letters -
etched in warm black stone.

 

Sigh!
They are not Forgotten